


Bixfreed Week 2016: Would you die for me?

by Anxious_Procrastinating



Series: Bixfreed Week 2016 [4]
Category: American Horror Story: Murder House, Fairy Tail
Genre: Depression, M/M, Murder, Self-Harm, Sociopathy, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxious_Procrastinating/pseuds/Anxious_Procrastinating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Bixfreed Week ever! Give all your love to this new ship! This is for days 2, 7 and 8. Prompts: Partners in crime, Death & AU/Edolas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bixfreed Week 2016: Would you die for me?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! This is my entry for days 2, 7 and 8. Prompts: Partners in crime + Death + AU/Edolas.
> 
> I apologize for being late and I hope you all like it! :D

"You're doing it wrong. If you're trying to kill yourself you cut vertically, they can't stitch that up…"

Freed jolted at the sudden voice and spun around to see a stranger leaning in the doorway.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked anxiously.

"If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door…" the guy answered with a sly grin and left, closing the door behind him.

Freed threw away the blade and hastily wiped away the blood that was still trickling down from the fresh cuts he'd inflicted himself. His breath was labored and he was still trying to process what the hell had happened.

Being caught while cutting himself had been scary. Someone else could have barged in and there could have been dire consequences. At least this guy didn't seem dangerous or ready to tell his parents.

He hastily locked the door and then sat down onto the edge of the bathtub, trying to relax. He took a deep breath and then looked at the red marks on his forearms.

Freed was a 17 year-old teenager. He had been living with his parents in this bigass mansion in LA for a few weeks by now. Before, they lived in Boston, but had moved because of him.

Freed was gay and of course his parents had to see that as the worst sin in the universe. Like everything he did, that had to be wrong as well. He'd tried to hide it for years, knowing that his whole family would disapprove of that, but one day they caught him having sex with his boyfriend and had decided to move to somewhere else.

They said it was just a phase he had to overcome, that that guy had made him like that, that he had a bad influence on him, that he just needed a fresh start.

No matter how much he'd cried and opposed himself to that, he was forced to move with his parents, saying goodbye to his lover. That was the last straw.

Now he didn't feel anything.

They say that when you feel too much, then something inside of you breaks and you just go numb.

Bullies, his best friend Evergreen's death, his parents not accepting him and now this. For years he bore all this, but now he'd reached his limit.

At first he thought it was good. No feelings, no suffering. But some other times he felt so dead inside and it was somehow frightening. He didn't want to be a heartless machine, not giving a shit about anyone and anything. He needed something, _anything_ , even a small spark in his soul. So he resorted to cutting himself. The pain brought him back to reality.

It hurt, but he didn't care. He _felt_. And he found himself in a constant state of boredom and in search of something that could break it, apart from that blade.

At least he could say he liked the new house. Its story fascinated him.

A drug-addicted doctor had built it for his wife, but things went south as he was forced to help some girls to abort to raise some more money. His son was kidnapped and the body was returned in pieces. The doctor tried to reconnect said pieces and bring his baby back to life, but he created a monster instead. His wife killed the baby, her husband and herself. From that moment forth the house was cursed.

Many said that it had its own soul.

They didn't know about the actual ghosts trapped within those walls, trying to wreak havoc in the world of the living, but only able to disturb the domestic life of every new owner.

Freed didn't believe in paranormal stuff, but it was enthralling none the less. Besides the attempts to murder him and his family that had already happened several times in such a short span of time, had made his heart tingle with fear and, at the same time, joy.

Just like this guy who had found out he cut himself.

After calming down he had assumed that he was one of his father's patients, but that didn't prevent him from trying to establish a connection in the following days. A connection he felt that this guy wanted as well.

He wasn't scared. His father was a psychiatrist, he knew he should fear him or at least be careful around him. But the more he got to know him, the more that guy didn't seem that dangerous. He looked like he understood him instead.

They had talked. He'd secretly invited him in his room and they had shared many things, including a few kisses.

His father although had found out that one of his most dangerous patients and his son danced around each other and immediately tried to forbid any further contact.

Bickslow sat on the couch in front of Freed's father.

At first Mr. Justine acted as if he had nothing to say regarding that, so the session went on normally, with Bickslow answering the doctor's questions.

They talked about his issues, his thoughts, about why he had felt the urge to kill.

He was a sociopath. A junkie. As a kid he mistreated animals, but when he grew up the object of his attentions became human beings. He loved lying, manipulating and hurting them.

The first person he had felt the wish to kill was his mother. He hated that woman. He had never felt loved and he just knew she was the cause of the fact that his father had abandoned him when he was 6. But he could never bring himself to actually end her life. Countless times he'd just stood there, knife in hands, next to her bed while she was asleep, the blade hovering over her heart. But he never managed to actually plunge it into her chest.

He thought he actually didn't have the guts to kill someone, but it turned out as a false assumption.

He'd killed so many people, some he didn't even remember. But only people that, in truth, he liked. He felt that he had a mission. He killed the people he liked because he wanted to get them out of that shitty world they lived in, free them.

__

1994.

__

Bickslow walked in the corridors of his school, crimson eyes covered by a metal grate that belonged to an old armor he'd found in his basement. A revolver was in his bloody hands. His mission was complete.

Freed's father seemed not to understand, but Bickslow was not surprised. When he asked why he thought it was a shitty world, Bickslow listed many of the problems of humanity. As he purposefully named homophobia, he noticed that the man tensed and he smirked.

"Something the matter, doc?"

"Yes, actually" he said in an autoritary tone. "I don't want you to talk to my son ever again"

Bickslow tried to appear innocent and asked: "How so?"

"Freed is trying to put this issue behind his back. And you're not helping! Besides, you are a dangerous individual and I want you nowhere near my son. Therefore, I decided that I can't be your therapist anymore, you must see someone else"

Upon hearing that, Bickslow seemed to panic, but it was fake. "No doc! I really like you, I think you're the only one who can cure me!"

"I am sorry"

Bickslow immediately stormed off the office and rushed down the stairs, slamming the front door of the house behind him. He was mad for the things that shitty doctor had said, incredibly so. He would make him pay. Luckily, there was Freed.

That same night he showed up in his room and talked about the conversation he'd had earlier that day with his father.

Freed's mood visibly darkened, but he managed to calm Bickslow down. He also offered to talk with his father, but Bickslow refused, not wanting to cause him any trouble.

Sociopaths have trouble forming many meaningful bonds with people, but Bickslow felt something special for Freed.

"I just need you to stay by my side. You are the only one who truly understands me" he said.

Freed leant in and kissed him softly, then whispered: "Always"

They remained huddled up like that, in silence, for a while, as Nirvana's _Something in the way_ played from Freed's iPod.

"It's Halloween in three days. Do you have any plans?" asked Bickslow at a certain point.

"No. You wanna go out together?"

"Sounds like a great idea"

October 31st arrived soon and Bickslow and Freed got out together. It was the only night in which ghosts could freely wander around.

They pair was on the beach cuddling on a blanket when some guys with a splatter makeup showed up, claiming that Bickslow had hurt them in the past.

Bickslow didn't remember any of that and told Freed to just go home and leave the assholes alone, but they followed them. When they got home, Freed, tired of the situation, ignored his fear and told the guys to just fuck off, but they told him something that made him think.

"You think he's innocent, that he told you the truth. Search for the Fairy Tail High massacre. You'll see how much of a liar he is"

Bickslow told him not to believe them, that they were just saying bullshit so scare him. Then he started to run. If those guys wanted to hurt him, fine, but they couldn't touch Freed.

They kept telling him he'd done stuff to them, that he'd _killed_ them, but he remembered none of that. He cried because he felt as if he had gone insane.

At dawn the guys left him alone, they had to go back to their graves and he had to go home. To Freed.

In the meantime, Freed was on his computer, finding out bits after bits of truth. Those guys were dead, _Bickslow_ was dead. He was a murderer, a serial killer.

SWAT had broken into his house in 1994 and had killed him.

Freed couldn't believe any of that. Was he crazy?

It was just a sick dream, nothing more. What was that overwhelming feeling of fear? Why could he feel right then? Right when he needed everything to shut down?

He hated it, he hated everything. He just wanted to sleep it off, hoping that when he woke up everything would be alright again.

He took a whole bottle of sleeping pills and never woke up again.

But he wasn't aware of that yet.

He vaguely remembered Bickslow screaming and crying and dragging him into the bathtub, trying to make him vomit the pills.

He didn't know he was dead.

Bickslow found him when he got back. Once he realized there was nothing else he could do to save him, he hid the corpse in a tunnel inside the walls of the house.

He was confused and afraid, but, most of all, hurt. Why would Freed kill himself?!

Good thing he'd died in the house, at least he would be there with him forever.

Freed seemed to have forgotten about the reason why he'd taken the pills. At first he'd been colder with Bickslow, but slowly, he came to grips with what was his past. He loved Bickslow and the more he thought about it, the less the fact that people had died touched him. It was normal for him.

After his suicide he had stopped attending school and their parents were willing to force him to get out of the house if necessary. The point was even if he wanted to, he couldn't.

Given the situation, Bickslow knew he had to do something. He didn't really want to resort to that, but Freed had to kill himself willingly, so that it wouldn't be a trauma for him to find out that he was dead. Then his parents would find the body and stop bothering him. Freed was depressed anyway, so it wouldn't be hard to convince him.

They were down in the basement when he proposed that. They would kill each other together, so they would be in a place where no one could disturb them and their love. Freed seemed to agree, but then he ran away with an excuse, screaming for help.

__

"Fuck it" thought Bickslow as he chased him. Freed noticed that as soon as he got out of the house, he found himself back in, continuously, as if trapped in a maze, or a bad dream.

Bickslow stopped Freed in his tracks and the younger boy squirmed in his grip, trying to free himself, but he forced him to look at him. Fear was all written across Freed's face and he hated it.

"I didn't want you to die Freed, I am sorry. But you need to see something"

Freed was still unsure about the whole ordeal, but decided to follow Bickslow into the basement.

Bickslow moved some bricks, revealing a passage inside the walls and invited Freed in with him.

They crawled into the narrow tunnels. It was disgusting, everything was coated in dust, spider webs and insects. As they reached a larger space, both Freed and Bickslow stood up.

"Close your eyes and remember everything is gonna be ok. I love you" he said.

Freed did as he was told and Bickslow pulled him closer to him. "Open your eyes"

Freed's blood froze in his veins as he saw himself. Dead.

Suddenly Bickslow's voice echoed in his head. A flashback of the night in which he took the pills.

__

He was being dragged into the bathroom.

__

__

"Don't you die on me! Freed!" screamed Bickslow, voice broken by tears. "Don't you die!"

"I died when I took all those pills" he said matter-of-factly.

__

Freed was in the bathtub, Bickslow hugging him from behind, water streaming on them.

__

"FREEEEEED!"

Bickslow nodded. "I tried to save you... I did. I tried to make you throw them up. You threw up some, not enough"

Freed kept staring at the corpse, seemingly unfazed.

"You took so many, Freed" Bickslow explained. "You died crying. I held you. You were safe. You died...loved"

"I hardly feel anything" whispered Freed, but tears were sliding down his cheeks.

"I didn't want you to find out this way, Freed. I had this idea that if you chose to die...with me...you wouldn't be so sad. I never wanted you to see this. I'm so sorry, Freed"

"It's ok" he mumbled. "Let's go back"

Once they were back in the bedroom, Freed had regained his composure. He couldn't let that fact bother him, he would just have to accept it.

He appreciated the fact that Bickslow had tried to protect him. He sat down next to him and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

"Now we can be forever together" he said and Bickslow smiled.

"Do you remember anything about how you died?"

"Nope" he replied.

"Why would you keep it a secret?"

"'Hi. I'm Bickslow. I'm dead. Wanna hook up?'" he joked. "I don't think so"

"What are we going to do with my parents?" asked Freed.

"Do you want them to be with you forever?"

Freed glared at him, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Well, not necessarily"

"We could always scare them to death" suggested Bickslow with a grin, tongue waggling out of his mouth.

"If they die here I'll be stuck with them forever. No thanks"

"True…" mused Bickslow. "Then how about we scare them enough to make them leave?"

"That's better"

In the evening all the ghosts in the house teamed up to scare the shit out of Freed's parents. Lights going out, bloody corpses around the house, death threats. Then, as icing on the cake, Bickslow stabbing Freed right in front of their eyes.

"Go away and never come back again!" they had all shouted together and Freed's parents really did run away, finally leaving everyone in peace.

Freed and Bickslow watched their car disappear down the road from the window.

"Finally, we can be together for all eternity" whispered Freed and Bickslow leant in to kiss him.

Freed felt finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say. I perfectly know that not all sociopaths are criminals or feel the urge to kill people. Sometimes there are individuals who are like this though ;)
> 
> For who is interested in Freed's condition, it's called emotional anesthesia. I don't really know if it's linked to depression or it's independent from that.


End file.
